Wild Thing
by habitualnon-sleeper
Summary: Joy McKinley has a short temper and a knack for screwing things up. Stupid luck landed her a place to stay in Tacoma, but that stupid luck ends her up in Charming. Joy hates it, but circumstances keep her in place until things calm down. (Being rewritten, incase you are confused or somethin')


**Wild Thing**

Set: A little after the beginning of season four, some events are warped, but for the most part it sticks true to them.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy and I am not making money of this fic.

Hi, yes. After two months deliberation I've decided to take down the original of this story and rewrite it to fix the plot and writing parts I felt weren't up to par. For the most part it's going to be pretty similar, but I wasn't as proud of what I posted to this prior so I really hope this version is better and is just as well recepted. Make sure to leave a review with your thoughts. Was this better than the original or should I just put that back up? Thanks so much for reading!

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><p><strong>Chapter One - Joy<strong>

At nine, I might as well have had the world figured out. I knew that I was the biggest mistake my parents had ever made ("We adopted her out of a bad home," I heard my mom lie through her teeth once in an effort to make sure me getting in trouble at school wouldn't blow back on her parenting). I knew that being a socialite in a town of five hundred was impossible, but people would literally die trying. And I knew that I didn't want to be anything like my parents.

I fell in love with motorcycles when I was nine. Being the rebellious kid of a small town socialite family meant you spent a lot of time with other people, especially when being different stopped being cute after age six.

Uncle Ben took me for the day, I remember. We'd went down to the shop so I could "help him out." Though that was usually just code for watching TV and eating junk food like we did together ninety percent of the time. I was a lot like Uncle Ben in the right I could care less about what people thought, sometimes I swore he'd be a better parent than either of mine.

Three motorcycles sat in a line on the concrete floor of the workspace when we walked in. I think that was actually the first time I'd even seen a motorcycle that wasn't on the highway.

"Wanna shine these puppies up while I finish up some work?" He asked, cocking a brow.

"Duh," I drew out the noise. "Who's are they?" I pried, as he grabbed down the wax.

"Friends'."

"What kind of friends?" I prodded again as I helped.

"The friend kind."

I huffed. "What kind of answer is that?"

"The answer kind." Uncle Ben punched my shoulder before he set the wrench in his hand down.

"You're mean."

"And you're nosy, but you don't hear me complaining Joy."

"Fight me," I challenged, sticking my tongue out and dropping my rag.

Uncle Ben grabbed me before I can get up. "I would, but I don't fight little kids," he laughed as he held me in place.

My brows furrowed and my lip quivered. I could never take an insult with out getting upset, I still can't half the time now. "And I don't fight old guys, but now's the ex-cep-tion."

"Is that so?" he joked, pulling me in for a hug. "Ten bucks says I'd win."

I opened my mouth to retort, but Uncle Ben raised a hand to keep me quiet for a second. I spun around to see what he was seeing.

"Are these your 'friend kind' friends?" I asked quietly and a bit awestruck.

"Yeah, now go to the office kid," he whispered back as he let me go. I lingered a second longer hoping to get a good look at these friends, but with a swat to the butt I'm looking through the blinds of the office.

They were all big guys for the most part. Big guys with big tattoos and big Sons of Anarchy kuttes were there to get their bikes. Of course I'd heard of the Sons, everyone in the North West knew about the Sons and Grace, Montana was no exception. Though I'd always been told to stay off the streets when they were in town for business, any kid at the time could tell you they practically owned everyone's asses.

I guess that was kind of the big eye-opener moment that got me interested in bikes. Though messing with them was cool, the people riding them were cooler. Kind of glamarous like celebrities. Law breaking celebrities, albeit, but still celebrities.

By seventeen I finished rebuilding my first bike. It wasn't the best bike in the entire world, but Gia was and still is the end all be all to me. Not to mention I'd never worked harder for something in my entire life. I'd had at least a dozen part time jobs and a hundred baby sitting stints to afford the pieces to put her back together. Hell, I'd even spent two years in practical secrecy putting her together.

When I finally got to take her out the first time I was so overwhelmed with excitement I almost wrecked. By the second run I was a pro, and the third run I was willing to present her to the school. Those five minutes on the highway were argueably the best moment of maybe that entire year, and the ride sure as hell was better than the destination.

One thing about teeny-tiny schools in teeny-tiny towns is that you can almost predict the future of most of the kids before they even get out of middle school. The worst thing about that is nine out of ten times that meant kids were going to fall into the socialite trap. And because of that, though everyone was always pretty tight, there's was more gossip and backstabbing than in any TV school I'd ever seen.

Taking Gia to school meant that day would be filled with the rage of fifty students who hadn't seen the person riding it so they could only make up things about it. By lunch there might as well have been a wild fire swipe through the school because right down to my best friend Luke was gossiping.

"It's your bike right?" he questioned quietly, practically bouncing in place. "I think I overheard you talking about it one, right? Right?"

I nodded as I chewed my pizza. I always liked to keep the masses in suspense, most of the time even Luke didn't know what I was up to back then. Besides, a little mystery keeps everyone fueled for the week.

"What was that?" Stacey Reynolds interjected. "Did you just say . . . ?" She motioned for me to go on. After a considerable silence she might as well have shouted, "It's Joy's motorcycle! I knew it!"

I take back the wild fire analogy, high school students are literally just a crate of TnT precariously close to a fire. One little flame crosses the line and they're ready to explode. Though I'd avoided the limelight since sophmore year, I was now canon fodder for the obnoxious things I could hear coming from all directions.

"Why would she even ride that thing? It's so dangerous!" Stacey's friend Mariah mumbled.

"I always knew she was a dyke," another assumed.

"She's just doing it 'cuz she wants to be a biker slut," Ken Jenkins sounded from the table behind me.

If there's one thing anyone needs to know about Ken Jenkins, it's that he's the biggest asshole this side of the continental divide and he'd been my mortal enemy since about the first grade when I beat him up for calling me little (though I've always been an inch shorter). I literally got tossed out of school near yearly for fighting him. The last time we went head to head was two years back as sophmores and I broken his nose and three of his teeth. Basically, I wouldn't take shit from that dick if my life depended on it.

I pushed myself up only to be pulled immediately back down by Luke. "Get at him after school so you don't get tossed."

In the next four hours occured what I like to call a "pace setter." When I went outside to settle my beef, Ken had gotten to settling our prior beefs on Gia. It wasn't bad, a busted headlight and some broken mirrors. But like I said, I needed no real reason to go at Ken in the first place.

Really, the worst thing about the entire situation was that Ken had been sitting in his piece of shit trucked laughing his ass off the entire time. The memory's a bit hazy from the adrenaline rush, but I remember grabbing him out of the cab of that shitty truck and throwing him to the ground before I wailed on him uncontrollably. His face was really bloody by the time he managed to turn the tide and flip us to land a few good hits on me. I'm not really a hundred percent on how the next part happened, but I guess I kicked him hard enough in the ribs there was a size ten boot mark right by the broken rib.

Nothing even registered to me until I was sauntering down to Uncle Benny's shop with a bunch of open mouthed high schoolers looking at me like I was some sort of celebrity. Though I guess practically beating someone stupid can get those looks from people. When I managed to get to the shop, what I wasn't expecting was a police car sitting down there. It had been less than ten minutes, but someone had had the sense to call the cops. And an "adopted kid" with a history of violent outbursts and blood on them can't really lie their way out of something like that.

I looked toward Uncle Ben and raised a brow. I didn't even dare make eye contact with my highly disappointed parents who stood behind him. Jesus, they probably knew more than I knew about it already

He nodded grimly and pulled me into a hug.

"I did something stupid," I mumbled to him.

"I know."

"Can you get Gia from the school for me? She's got a few scratches."

Uncle Ben chuckled softly. "Yeah, kid." He paused. "Listen, I have some friends and that dick head kid won't press charges. You'll be out in a few days, I promise."

I nodded at him and in and instant I was hauled off the jail. I spent the better part of three days alone in a cell. But, as promised, on the third day the charges were dropped and I returned to Uncle Benny's apartment, that was filled with the shit my parents had taken out of my room.

"I guess they 'un-adopted me'," I'd joked openly as we watched TV in the office of the shop.

"They'd 'un-adopt' their dog if it pissed in the wrong spot," Uncle Benny countered.

"Yeah, but it's different with a kid that was literally brought into the Earth by them." I always tried to be tough, and even though I'd grown up with parents that distanced themselves from me in literally every way possible, it kind of stung to be thrown out so unceremoniously.

Uncle Ben offered a sympathetic smile. "Listen kid-"

We could hear boots scuffle across the floor. It wasn't uncommon to have random people show up, but usually there was a shout to alert. A big guy in a kutte walked into the little space.

"That's a nice bike you got out there," he commented lamely.

"Thanks," I piped up.

What I could literally only describe as some form of vage surprise flashed across his face. "I didn't know she'd be here." He stayed silent a moment. "Go home kid."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Uncle Ben hushed me. "Just go Joy."

"Fine." I left the room and stepped into the shop, which was crawling with more guys in kuttes.

A young guy clad in a prospect kutte stood near Gia. He looked genuinely surprised when I approached my bike.

"She's a nice bike," he commented sheepishly

"Thanks, I know."

He licked his lips. "You're the guy who owns this place's niece, right?"

"Come on Pic, you can get your dick sucked later!" Another guy standing just outside the garage called, nodding his head away from the shop.

"Ah - alright." He paused. "I guess I'll talk at you later - uh - whatever your name is."

"You two 'whatever your name is'."

The kid ran off and by now the big guy had come out of the office. "It's not safe for you here kid," he offers gruffly.

"Why not?" I demand, doing my best to sound fierce.

"I mean that your uncle ain't safe, and from what I understand you don't have anywhere to go."

Panic arised in my chest. "Why isn't he safe?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Your better of not knowing." An impossibly long break and he speaks up again. "I'll send the prospect with you to pack a bag. I'm sure you can find somewhere to land in Tacoma."

I felt myself frown deeply. I'd like to think it looked menacing, but I'm sure it actually looked like the kind of frown that meant someone was about to cry (which it definitely was). I marched into the office where Uncle Benny sat, head held in his hands and graying locks over his face.

"Go with them Joy," he murmured before I could speak up.

"Why?" I push.

He can barely choke his sentences out. "I did something bad Joy." He was almost whispering. "I ratted some other clients of mine out, to get you protection." And all at once he was loud. "Go, Joy. Get out now. I'll be fine!"

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><p>I actually don't like to leave notes at the bottom, but I drew a bit of inspiration from real life for the whole "adopted" thing. I actually live in a super small town and have heard that used and it is honestly the funniest excuse I've heard in my entire life.<p> 


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